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Page 441
"I do not desire an itinerary of your travels, Alinor. What do you mean, you tried to hide what you feltwhat did you feel?"
"Nothing." Alinor's eyes were desolate. "I am not angry or jealousthat much a fool I am not. I do not know how to say it, but it is like hearing a joke you do not understand. You laugh with your mouth, but inside you are not laughing. When Ian speaks to me, I answer, but only with my mouth; there is nothing inside. I serve him willingly, but with the same courtesy I would use to a stranger. I"
"Have you denied him your bed?" Isobel asked sharply.
Despairingly, but easily, as if from frequent practice, Alinor began to cry. She was shivering uncontrollably, and Isobel put her arms around her and held her close. After a while she quieted and shook her head.
"Of course I have not. What cause have I for such a thing? It is horrible, horrible. Sometimes I cannot answer to him no matter what he does. That is not so bad, because I can pretend. I do not know if he is deceived, but it is not so awful as when he does arouse me. Then I am taken with such fits of weeping as I did not suffer even when Simon died."
"Some women are taken that way," Isobel suggested.
"Not I, and Ian knows it. It was very sweet between us, Isobel, until that accursed tourney."
That was the first really important thing Alinor had said. Isobel had wondered, despite Alinor's denials, if she was making up excuses not to love Ian because of some stupid idea about being faithful to Simon. It seemed that was not the case. The problem really lay between Ian and Alinor. But what the problem was, Isobel still did not know. She was willing to credit that the trouble had started with a convulsion of hurt pride, but Alinor was not the type to hug her hurt to herself and inflict pain to soothe her spite.
"Well then, you were hurt by Ian's inconsiderate

 
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